Hell, I can't even believe I made it to college. I tried to change my life, I tried coping with life in general and as of last month, things went down hill. I started a more extreme kind of sadisitc hobby. Burning. It hurts...but I need the pain. So many scars to remind me of the times I could have died.
Sure, I'm somewhat "normal" on the outside, normal as a teen can be anyway. But doesn't psycho's look just like everyone else?
I'm miserable, depress and lonely. Who could blame me, I push people away. It's all for the best.
I can't say I wear a mask. If I'm happy, I let the world see it. If I'm sad, I make sure everyone's day is as crappy as mines.
Friends and family know of my scars and they love to tell me how much of an idiot I am. Thank you. I know its stupid to cut oneself's body, but if they weren't giving me so much crap in the first place, I wouldn't have done it.
The strange thing is, is that I love it. I love to hurt myself. I love to hurt myself more than people do, because it gives me the satisfaction that I am in control of my own life and emotion.
I have no one trying to help me with this problem, aside from me. Some friends they are, eh? My family could care less, as far as I know.
My scars are way of expressing myself, to show my pain to the world.